Page 83 of Seeds of Christmas

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Dinner is quiet.

Not the easy kind we’ve developed. The awkward kind. The kind where every clink of a fork sounds too loud and neither of us knows what to say.

“This is good,” Rhi says, not looking up from her plate.

“Thanks.”

More silence.

“How’s your ankle?”

“Better. The compression bandage helped.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Silence.

I’m going insane.

“Rhi, did I do something wrong?”

She looks up, startled. “What? No.”

“Then why are you acting like—” I stop myself. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Like what?”

“Like you can’t stand being around me.”

“I don’t—” She sets down her fork. “I’m not. I’m just tired. It was a long hike, and my ankle hurts, and I’m exhausted.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

But it’s not okay. We both know it’s not okay.

She finishes eating quickly, washes her dish, and retreats to her room.

It’s barely seven PM.

I sit at the table alone, staring at my half-eaten pasta, trying to figure out what the hell I did to make her run.

I can’t sleep.

I keep replaying the day, trying to figure out where it went wrong.

This morning she was good. Quiet, maybe, but fine.

Then I gave her the cupcake. She seemed touched. Said it was perfect.

Then she went outside.

And when she came back, everything was different.

What happened out there?

Did she realize she doesn’t want this? Doesn’t want me?

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